A Killing Kind of Love: A Dark, Standalone Romantic Suspense

by EC Sheedy

  She was brushing tears from her eyes when the doorbell crackled. Or buzzed. Or whatever. There really wasn’t a description for the sound, other than aurally painful. She kept meaning to have it fixed—but somehow it stayed low on the list of things to do. She got up immediately to stop whoever it was on the other side of her door from ringing it again.

  She looked through the glass, frowned, and again tugged at the belt on her robe, pulling it even tighter. God, she hadn’t even brushed her hair!

  It was Dan Lambert, carrying a very large bag.

  If Camryn hadn’t known what to say to Kylie about her mother and all the changes she could expect, she was even less sure what to say to the man Kylie hadn’t stopped talking about since she’d brought her home.

  The man threatening to take her away, and a man who had a troubling effect on Camryn’s logic and determination—and something else she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, name.

  She opened the door. “I don’t remember telling you where I lived,” she said, at the same time registering how relaxed and confident he looked standing outside her door at a too-early time in the morning. And while he looked rugged and ready for the day in jeans and a tan windbreaker, she looked frowsy—probably irritated, which she was—and incapable of thinking past downing her first cup of coffee.

  “You’re in the phone book.”

  “Yes, along with my telephone number.” She eyed him. “I thought you’d gone back to California.”

  “I did. Now I’m here.”

  “Here, where?”

  “A motel in Kenmore—for the time being.”

  She let out a breath, because other than a curse, it was all she could come up with.

  “We have things to settle,” he said. “I thought it best we do it face to face.” He looked past her. “And I’d like to see Kylie. I brought some of her things from the house. She’ll want them.”

  “She’s with my father. At the park.” She didn’t open the door. “You can leave them with me. I’ll make sure she gets them.”

  “This is only part of it. The rest of it—the bigger toys and some clothes—are in the truck. And her car. She loves her car.” He waited, and it was obvious he intended to wait for as long as it took.

  Damn! She opened the door wider. “I’ll take that.” She reached for the bag. “You get the rest.”

  He handed her the bag, turned without a word, and went back to the black Navigator he’d parked in her driveway.

  He made another trip, then Camryn helped him stack Kylie’s worldly treasures—which included a pedal-operated pink truck, a miniature replica of the one her daddy had parked in Camryn’s driveway. The pink one was now in her kitchen, along with the man who carried it in.

  “Thank you,” Camryn said, tightening her robe again and stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Kylie will be happy to have her things.”

  He nodded, glanced at the coffeepot. “Do you mind?”

  “I don’t—”

  He poured himself a cup, leaned against the counter, and studied her over the rim of the mug, looking as cool and casual as a Sunday shopper. He didn’t look as if he was in any hurry to start talking. He looked sharp, all shiny-clean, and focused. He wasn’t here to drop off Kylie’s toys. He had a purpose. The last thought made her frown.

  “You wanted to talk,” she finally said, tilting her head, increasingly feeling at a disadvantage in her robe and ratty slippers.

  “How much do you know about Holly and me? About what was going on between us?”

  She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t a discussion of his marriage. Damn, she should have kept her mouth shut on the plane. Then she remembered Sebastian’s accusation after the funeral, and her stomach tightened. Better he was here to talk about her smart-mouthed comments than to ask about Adam. She did not, would not, talk about that scumbag. “Nothing.” She turned, picked up her abandoned coffee mug from the table, and poured the cold dregs into the sink.

  “That’s not what you said on the plane,” he said.

  “I was . . . out of line. What happened between you and Holly is your business, unless—”

  “Unless it affects Kylie.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fair enough.” He sipped some coffee, held it in both hands. “But it still doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Look . . . for a while after you and Holly married we kept in touch, but—and I feel bad about this—I hadn’t seen much of her for close to a year. Holly’s choice, not mine, and I sensed something was very wrong.”

  “And when you heard we were separated, you assumed that ‘something’ was me. Or is that what Holly told you?”

  “Holly wouldn’t talk about it, but she didn’t have to.” She took a step toward him. “But my guess? Holly—and Kylie—needed more than an absentee husband and father.” She met his level gaze with one of her own. “You were never there. That much I did know.”

  His jaw moved, and he looked away, took a breath. “You’re right. I traveled a lot. That’s my job. But that was about to change. We’d agreed on it.” He sent the last of his coffee to join hers in the sink. “Holly didn’t wait for that to happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked as if he had broken glass in his mouth—and broken pride in his eyes. “Your friend Sebastian was right. She had someone.”

  Damn Sebastian anyway! Why hadn’t he kept his jealous paranoia to himself? “You can’t take what Sebastian said as fact. He’s obsessive when it comes to Holly.” She considered her choice of words as conservative, knowing ‘maniacally addicted’ would have suited better.

  “He loved her.” Dan set out the words and waited.

  She hesitated. “Yes. Since high school.”

  He nodded, then said, “That said, he didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”

  Camryn’s stomach sank, and her breathing went shallow. “I don’t believe that. And neither should you.”

  “You don’t want to believe it. Me? I don’t have a choice. My source is impeccable.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Holly.”

  “Holly told you she was having an affair?” She wanted to sneer at his allegation, but something in his face stopped her.

  “Yes.”

  “She wouldn’t! Absolutely would not do that.” The words shot out of her in a burst of appalled disbelief.

  “You actually believe I’d make something like that up?” He rubbed at his jaw, then abruptly dropped his hand, adding, “You believe that a man—any man—wants to admit his wife preferred someone else’s company in her bed?” Camryn’s legs suddenly weakened, so she went back to the table and sat down.

  Dan followed her, took the chair across from her, and folded his hands in front of him. Big hands that looked strong and capable, like the man himself, and, like him, deeply tanned.

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

  “Because I want you to tell me everything you know about this Adam guy.”

  “That wouldn’t be much.” Her mind was trying to absorb the idea of Holly and Adam. No! It couldn’t be Adam. It couldn’t! Holly wouldn’t . . . But when she thought about the past few months, how Holly had avoided her, it made a crazy kind of sense, because if Holly were seeing him, she’d avoid Camryn—not want to face what she knew would be her shock and disapproval. But, Adam? Again! Surely Holly wouldn’t be that stupid. That reckless.

  Dan stared at her, his gaze narrowing. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe whatever you want. But anything I know about Adam is old news. Very old news.” Camryn did not want to go there—that mean and ugly place Adam Dunn had created in her life, in all their lives. It was sordid and humiliating. After Kylie was born, she, Gina, and Holly had agreed to emotionally bury Adam, dump him and the pain he’d inflicted on each of them into the past and vow to leave him there.

  Obviously, Holly had changed her mind.

  Camryn hadn’t. “Look, even if I believed H
olly had an affair with Adam Dunn—which I honestly can’t imagine—what’s the point of dragging it up now? She’s gone. Why not let it go.”

  He let out an irritated gust of breath. “How about this for a reason? He’s a likely suspect in her murder.”

  Camryn’s eyes shot to his, and shock constricted her chest. “No. No way. Adam might be an amoral opportunist—but a murderer?” She shook a vehement negative. “No.” Even as the words crossed her lips, Camryn wondered why she was so certain of them, but she was. “He would never hurt Holly. Never. He’d have no reason to.”

  “How about if she was dumping him, because she wanted to make things work between us.” He watched her face. “Would that be reason enough for you?”

  “You think that’s true?”

  “Holly and I had talked a few days before she was killed. Both of us wanted what was best for Kylie. So, yes, I’d say that’s where her head was.”

  She thought about it, shook her head again. “No. Not Adam.”

  “Dunn was in Boston when Holly was killed. Did you know that?”

  That got her attention, but it didn’t change her mind. “Here’s a better question. How do you know that?”

  “I work in the oil business. Security. We check everything about everybody who comes near our sites—who does what, with whom, where they do it, and why. When your buddy Sebastian supplied me with a name. I ran a check on it.”

  She hesitated. “That’s . . . creepy.”

  “So is being murdered.” He twisted his lips, as if he were chewing on his patience. “So I repeat, tell me everything you know. If you won’t tell me, I’m guessing Gina Solari will.”

  That brought Camryn to her feet. “Gina has nothing to do with any of this.” Camryn didn’t know what was wrong with Gina, but sure as hell something was. She was already depressed, lonely, and a life-inch away from a complete breakdown. She didn’t need an avenging husband on her case talking about Adam Dunn, of all people, after what he’d done to her in college. Gina had ever really got over that and hadn’t, as far as she knew, seen him since. “You have to leave her out of this. She’s not well.”

  Dan Lambert eyed her as if she were seeping gray matter. “She’s well enough to be entertaining Dunn.”

  Chapter 13

  Paul Grantman put down the phone and carefully scrutinized the surface of his desk and his open briefcase. If he had forgotten anything, he’d have Maury, who was leaving a day behind him, bring it along.

  “Paul?” Erin said from the doorway. “The limo’s here. Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes. More than ready.” Anxious was a better description. Now that Holly was gone, he’d sell this damn place. He’d only kept it for her, because it reminded her of her mother, but Jeri-Ann was gone—and now so was Holly. Damn, he wouldn’t think about that.

  Erin looked at the briefcase, her eyes a bit too bright, but—this morning at least—clear and focused. “Is that for the plane? I was hoping …” She let her hope trail off. Either that or she’d forgotten what it was.

  He stood, snapped his case shut. “Hoping what, darling?”

  “That you wouldn’t work . . . just this once.” She sniffed, touched her nose with her knuckle, the gesture slow and delicate.

  Paul came around the desk, took her by the shoulders, then used one hand to lift her chin. “Are you all right?” Her face, although perfectly made-up, was a shade too pale, made paler by the fine rope of rubies and diamonds blazing around her slender throat.

  She leaned into him, nuzzled her face into his neck. “I’m fine, been fine for weeks now. You know that.” She wrapped her arms around him, pressed herself close. She was wearing the perfume he’d brought back from France last month, and he drew the sweet scent in, enjoying the way it mingled with her own. He ran his hand down her long blond hair, loving the silk texture of it.

  They’d been married six miserable, chaotic years, and she still took his breath away.

  “Is Maury coming with us to Seattle?” Her question, spoken against his neck, came with breath and heat.

  He held her closer, then said what she wouldn’t want to hear. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

  Her body tensed against his. “I don’t want him, Paul. And I don’t need him.”

  Because she hadn’t pulled away yet, he stroked her hair again. “I know, but it’s only for a while. A very short while. He keeps you safe—”

  “He spies on me.” When she straightened as if to pull away, he tightened his grip on her. “I can keep myself safe,” she said. “I told you that.”

  He rubbed her back, making slow, circular motions. “I know, and I believe you, but I want you to go to Leeside and—”

  She jerked back. “I don’t need another rehab. I won’t go. I promised, everything would be all right—for Kylie. And it will be.” Her eyes were brighter now, both stubborn and pleading.

  Her panic transferred to Paul’s chest, and his heart fluttered. If he pushed her, she’d run . . . like she had before. She was gone for days before he found her in that awful hotel room. He held her hands, rubbed his thumbs over the soft skin covering her knuckles. “Why don’t we talk about this later, sweetheart. When we’re settled in the lake house.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Shush now, everything will be okay. Didn’t I promise you I’d fix things?”

  She swallowed and nodded, but stubbornness clung to her as surely as the French perfume she wore.

  “And that’s what I’ll do. Fix you. But you have to help me. It’s more important than ever. You want Kylie, don’t you?” He kissed her forehead, confused again about his feelings for this broken young woman. He was rich—too rich by most people’s standards—reasonably fit, and not bad-looking. He could have any woman he wanted. Why did he only want this one? Again he tilted her chin up. “It’s all about Kylie now. We have to focus on her, on bringing her home. If you don’t stay straight, if you don’t get things right, all the lawyers in the world won’t be able to help us.” She nodded jerkily. “I know that.”

  “No missteps, my darling. Not one.”

  When she looked away, he turned her head, determined she meet his eyes. “Camryn knows about your problem.”

  She looked resigned, chewed on her lower lip, then said with no emotion, “Holly, I guess.”

  “Yes.” Paul stepped back and leaned against his desk. “Camryn will fight us for Kylie. She made that clear. And she’s a lot tougher than I thought.” He paused. “It won’t be pretty if she decides to repeat what Holly told her in open court, during a custody battle.” He hated to phrase it that way, knew it would hurt her, but Erin had to understand what was at stake: the Grantman name—and Kylie. Paul didn’t intend to lose either one—or his beautiful young wife.

  “Camryn’s . . . nice. She won’t do that.”

  “She will. Erin. She’ll do anything to keep Kylie.” Paul had been surprisingly unsettled by Camryn’s vehemence, and he recognized a worthy adversary when he saw one. He wouldn’t underestimate her. He added, “Just as I’ll do everything within my power to make sure Kylie comes back to us, where she belongs. But you have to help.”

  Erin nodded, and her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Paul. God, I’m such a loser.” She hugged herself, opening and closing her fingers on the blue cashmere covering her upper arms. “I don’t know why you put up with me.”

  He replaced her hands with his. “That’s easy. I love you.” He smiled at her, then pulled her close. Christ, if she only knew how much. “And to prove it, that briefcase you spotted will stay locked until we get to the lake.” He’d read most of what was in it anyway—a couple of acquisition proposals, a snapshot legal opinion by Jason on the Kylie custody issue, all maddeningly inconclusive. Nothing that couldn’t wait.

  This whole business was going to be messy and time-consuming. From what he’d read so far, everybody had a case. Camryn, because she’d been chosen as Kylie’s guardian by Holly. Lambert, who wouldn’t be the first stepfather to be aw
arded custody based on “best interests of the child” precedents. And himself, the grandfather, based on blood ties—and money. Lots of money.

  Shit, all they needed now was for Kylie’s asshole father to turn up and stick his oar in the water.

  “Paul?” Erin said.

  “Uh-huh?” He pulled himself out of the legal quagmire, looked at his wife.

  “I want Kylie. I really, really do,” she murmured, fisting her hands in the cotton of his shirt. “I love her, and I’ll make her a good mother. A very good mother,” she said, her tone slightly high with desperation.

  “Of course you will. You’ll be a wonderful mother.” Paul didn’t know whether he was lying to her or himself, but it didn’t matter. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt for Erin to see herself as taking on the care of a child. She needed a goal, something to hang on to. Caring for Kylie would give her that.

  She stepped away from him and gave him a sad but determined look. He’d seen that look before, many times; it was the lead-in to a promise. “I’ll do it. I’ll stay clean. I’ll do it for you, and I’ll do it for Kylie.” She stopped. “But no rehab. Not again. I can do it alone. I promise.”

  Paul stifled his disappointment, knew pressuring her was useless. “You’ll have her. Don’t worry.” Not that he intended to trust her with his only grandchild. The world was full of nannies, after all—and there was always Maury. He hoped the illusion of motherhood would be enough to keep her on track—while he raised Kylie the way she should be raised.

  “Now, how about we get moving. Riesman has filed his flight plan. No point in his having to do it twice because we’re late.”

  “Most of my things are already in the limo. I’ll get my coat and bag.”

  When she was gone, Paul chewed on their conversation. He wished he felt as sure of himself as he let on. He shrugged off the negative thinking and picked up his briefcase.

  This custody thing was merely another game to be played, and when an opponent in the game had something on him, a smart player did what was necessary to neutralize that advantage. The still incomplete files in his case were the beginning of that process.